She smiles, legs dangling carelessly from the roof. Blue eyes reflect an array of glittering galaxies.
Another speckle dots the black.
How I wonder
Her eyes widen, stomach tightening.
Hands clasp ears over the meteoric roars
Sirens. A mother’s horrified scream.
Fifteen-year-old Megan lives in Florida with her family and her cat named Luna Petra Zane. This is her first “plunge” into the realm of 50 word fiction.
My girlfriend’s face is frozen. She’s squeezing my hand like a vise grip. The screeching gets worse. Passengers press call buttons, while flight attendants buzz around like bees willy-nilly, hovering over them. I look out the window. White. Everywhere.
The screeching is deafening, and now blue smoke fills the cabin.
Debbie L. Miller writes from Brooklyn, New York, where she writes short stories, plays, monologues, personal essays, memoir, flash fiction, feature articles, and humor pieces.
Are you ready to go home?
He opened his eyes and nodded.
His wife held his hand. She kissed his forehead. Manage the airway. Now the tube. Suction that airway.
His wife wiped his mouth with a warm wet cloth. Then she kissed his hand as his last breath left.
Billie Pritchett is an assistant professor of English at Chosun University in Gwangju, South Korea. He has written articles and reviews for the philosophy website The Partially Examined Life, and he maintains a blog called Si Hoc Legere Scis.
“Mayday, mayday! Engines have failed!”
Business trip turned into death bed. Panic consumed the cabin, a mix of tears and screams.
My heart dropped as I clutched my phone. The plane descended quickly as I dialed.
It went to voicemail and I said, “I love you,” one last time.
Maddie is an 11th Grade student in New Jersey who loves to write and play volleyball.